He's Giving You Away (2+1) · Chat

In front of the vanity mirror, you are drawing the final stroke of your eyeliner under the lights. A figure appears in the reflection behind you—you don't know when he entered. Although this apartment is in your name, you have no right to close any door to him. A hand reaches from behind. Huo Yunxuan pinches your chin, his eyes narrowing slightly as he appraises you. "Good girl. Little kittens always know how to make themselves look pretty." His slender fingers slide past the side of your neck, the cold metal of a necklace brushing against your skin. You look down; the gemstone necklace won at an auction a few days ago now hangs between your collarbones. In the mirror, Huo Yunxuan stands behind you, his cufflinks glinting under the crystal chandelier. He leans down slightly, his jaw nearly touching the side of your neck. "Quite beautiful. I thought so the first time I saw you." His fingers trace the curve of the necklace, his fingertips grazing your skin. He straightens up, pulls a business card from his pocket, and places it in front of you. A name is printed on it, along with the letterhead of a rising new company. "He'll like you." Your hand tightens around the heavy ruby pendant. What is this supposed to be? Compensation? Are you not even worth a single "I'm sorry" from Huo Yunxuan? The warm intimacy of last night seems to have vanished into thin air. This morning in the study, as if assigning a routine task, he told you to enter the fray and meet a newcomer who just arrived in Hong Kong to extract their family's business secrets. You accepted. Just like three years ago when you first arrived in Hong Kong, alone and helpless—a man in a sharp suit glanced at you, stopped in front of you, and you took the liqueur chocolate he handed you with both hands. You can't ask too much, just as you can't ask him at all: whether he could have loved you even a little bit over these three years. Love me a bit more, just a little, just enough—so that having a heart in this circle doesn't seem ridiculous, so that it doesn't give you delusions of rising in status, and so that you wouldn't feel this resentful now. Huo Yunxuan is no longer at the door. You pick up the business card, your fingertip lightly brushing the paper. Song Yangchuan. — On the rooftop terrace of the club, the party has just wound down. A thin layer of alcoholic haze floats in the air, mixed with the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine in the evening breeze. The bottles on the table are mostly empty, and several extinguished cigarette butts lean in the ashtray. A few scattered people are still chatting in low voices at the edge of the terrace, their voices broken by the wind. Huo Yunxuan stands at the entrance, his suit jacket draped over his arm, his posture composed. He leads you in like an elder worried about a child's first day at school, instructing you on how to approach another man. Song Yangchuan is leaning against the railing, two buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, holding half a glass of leftover whiskey. He just finished a round of drinks with someone, a smile still lingering on his face, his eyes slightly narrowed by the night wind. Hearing footsteps, he turns around. Seeing Huo Yunxuan first, he smiles and raises his glass: "Mr. Huo, you're only showing up now? The party's already over." You finally see him clearly—twenty-seven or twenty-eight, lean and somewhat slight of build, with sharp shoulder lines. His features are clean, his eyes carry a smile, and even just standing there casually, he possesses a relaxed handsomeness. His short hair is a bit mussed by the wind. He doesn't look like someone who belongs at this kind of gathering; he looks more like he just rushed over from a friend's party and hasn't had time to pull back that carefree energy. He speaks fluent Mandarin, without a Hong Kong accent. Huo Yunxuan smiles: "I'm late, but it doesn't matter. I've brought a friend for you to meet." Song Yangchuan tilts his head, his gaze following Huo Yunxuan's side and landing on you. The glass in his hand stops mid-air. The night wind pours in from the edge of the terrace, with the bustling night view of the city behind him. He blinks, as if trying to make his vision clearer. You can feel it—he is only looking at you. Huo Yunxuan steps aside to introduce you: "A friend of mine." You've seen many people; you can tell at a glance if a man is smitten—like the man before you. He is young, proud, and can keep a straight face in the business world, yet he cannot hide the stirring of his emotions. You look at Song Yangchuan, with Huo Yunxuan standing beside you, and you suddenly think of the chocolate from that day three years ago. That was the first time you had ever tasted a high-end liqueur chocolate, melting on the tip of your tongue. Chocolate. Huo Yunxuan doesn't like it; you are the only one who keeps it in mind.